


Flaming Telepaths

by cherishiggy



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Lazy Mornings, M/M, Mild Gore, OKAY what is it with me and domestic stuff, Road Trips, Slice of Life, the wee fuckers are going all around the damn globe... sniffs i'm glad for them, пездюки шароёбятся по миру... шмыг я за них рада
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-09 03:06:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20846504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherishiggy/pseuds/cherishiggy
Summary: Eli snores loudly in his sleep, so much so, Mantis swears in a hushed whisper from the back seat of their car that this time he'll surely gouge Eli's tongue out with flaming, sharp nails. Preferably as slowly as possible.





	Flaming Telepaths

**Author's Note:**

> And here I go again, getting inspired by artists and them reigniting my love for certain ships. Such is the case with this fic, too! [ Wiki ](https://mobile.twitter.com/wiki2world) rekindled my love for liquidmantis, like dude, their fem!liquidmantis sketches are *something else* whew *forehead sweat wiping intensifies*
> 
> The title is from [the song of the same name by Blue Öyster Cult](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uf5ja-GEizY). Because really, it's such a liquidmantis song. ...And I've been on a Blue Öyster Cult binge in general.
> 
> Speech in cursive indicates mindspeak.

Eli snores loudly in his sleep, so much so, Mantis swears in a hushed whisper from the back seat of their car that this time he'll surely gouge Eli's tongue out with flaming, sharp nails. Preferably as slowly as possible.

That morning Eli laughs with part twisted delight, part malice as he taunts Mantis, "Well, why hadn't you done so already? You sure like to take your damn time." Honestly, Mantis just wants to rip his trachea out instead so that he'll never hear his venom-spiked tone but settles on flipping him off. Eli responds in kind, throwing Mantis a pack of beef jerky and a half-emptied water bottle, almost hitting him in the process. In a bout of frustration, Mantis catches those in the air, then undoes the lower straps and pulls his gas mask up, just enough to uncover his scarred lips, with which he promptly bites Eli on his lips. Eli, outraged with such impudence, ever the example of "eye for eye", goes right for Mantis' mouth, blood already boiling with adrenaline. Kisses, sharp nips, scratching, stinging hickeys, anything goes in such moments.

And thus another of their countless days on the road began.

After some bickering, they decide upon eating at a diner. Dried stuff and snacks are okay, but you can't live off of just them, though both of them certainly try as much as they can to better preserve their savings.

Eli makes Mantis get a full portion of pancakes instead of half as Mantis had originally intended, and Mantis obliges with a defiant hiss of his filter, hackles raised.

After a little wheedling here and there, courtesy of Eli, Mantis does admit that the cranberry berry jam is, indeed, good, as much as the pancakes are fluffy, hearty. Smelling like what someone would probably describe as "home". Mantis never understood that, he never really thought of any place on this godforsaken planet as "home", but if he ever had one, he'd really want it to smell like this, like freshly-made pancakes and cinnamon and caramelized butter.

They settle in a quiet corner, out of the range of chatter and ruckus and attention of the diner visitors and the waitress. Eli wolfs down his English-style breakfast, fastidiously picking out the mushrooms from his plate and putting them on Mantis' plate. Just to be extra difficult, he plops some of them straight into the shallow pool of jam that Mantis has taken a liking to, which earns Eli a sharp kick under the table. Eli's such a child sometimes. Mantis rolls his eyes, and, while Eli runs off to change the jukebox to punk, he exacts his revenge by stealing an unbroken yolk Eli has been saving up for the end. His fault, really.

Their differences are settled when Eli, disappointed that this hellhole doesn't have The Clash, makes Mantis part with a strawberry in his milkshake as payback, and Mantis haggles extra hard. Not that Mantis likes the tart things, plus, that one looked particularly sour, he just likes to be a pain in Eli's ass every once in a while. Well, in his defense, _someone_ has to keep Eli on his toes.

He secretly hopes the strawberry gives Eli a mouth ulcer or something.  
Gleefully contemplating their last kill between the slurps of his remaining milkshake, some unoffending sod that had pretty shady underground ties, Eli particularly underlines the artful mess of a gut spill each corpse has, a unique leftover of a blueprint of once-existing life marred with slowly creeping rot. Mantis personally enjoys the aspect of their target never able to make trouble ever again. Never to speak, to breathe, to exist, that's one human less in this world. That, he likes.

Eli agrees with him. The fewer humans, the better. They find a quiet moment of mutual agreement between drinking their milkshakes.

Their job's been fairly easy so far; the people who might need them already have contact with the one who had already used their services, know them or heard about them from somebody else. A web of information, a grapevine, slowly spreading across certain parts of society. So they have been somewhat consistently busy, their pockets somewhat full, and quality of life somewhat alright. For now.

But occasionally, they allow themselves these bouts of indulgence, to get a room with soft beds and breakfast, to buy slightly more candy bars than needed, to relax under the searing streams of shower water just a bit more. Or, in this case, to eat at a fairly alright diner.

Eli's lips are positively _caked_ with little bits of frosting that he was too busy eating his donut to lick off. Little flickers and dollops of sun sneak from the gaps of the shutters, painting Eli's already tan face in even warmer tones. As Mantis pokes the last remnants of a pancake with some jam, waiting for when some space in his stomach frees up so he wouldn't let this heavenly breakfast go to waste, the playful patches of light jump into Eli's unruly mop of hair. Mantis stares.

Eli side-eyes him. "What?"

Mantis just rasps out, eyes still glued to Eli's halo of blonde hair ablaze with dusty light, "Nothing." And presses the filter of his mask to Eli's face, mimicking a kiss.

Eli grows rosier in the cheeks this time too, despite how long ago Mantis has started showing affection this way, and sneers, "You're weird." And pecks the cold black stretch of Mantis' gas mask in response. God, Mantis wants to devour him, of which he informs Eli, and Eli just shrugs, "Nothing wrong with that. I sometimes want to strangle you, it's just how it is."

Mantis supposes so. That's how they are, eye for eye, quid pro quo, a little black humor sprinkled in here and there. And it suits him just fine. Suits them just fine.

And he likes it that way.

Eli's hair is askew from wind, the ends getting in his mouth as he gets into their car and uses their mental link at the same time so as to not shout over the bruising blasts of wind, "_Told you we should get those. Just look at them!_"

The streaks of cranberry jam, the one Mantis has taken a shine to, glint dully in the sun across the white surface of the donut, just like slightly fresh blood. Mantis likes that comparison. From the looks of it, the donut is filled with that jam as well. The mental image of biting into the donut and it bursting with bubbles and blobs of oozing red liquid that will leave dark smears on his face, not unlike the ones he wipes off his gas mask after a successful kill makes him smile. Not too shabby. Eli has good taste.

A wave of self-satisfaction ripples through their mental link. So Eli's been quietly listening to Mantis' jumbled bits and pieces of thoughts while he was too busy scarfing down his jam pancakes to notice. "_Don't get too full of yourself just because you managed to pick out something I like._" But it's too late, and Eli, like a prideful peacock trying to impress the onlookers and Mantis especially, puffs out his chest and musses up his blonde mop. Great, he's going to be unbearable for the rest of the day. But Mantis is used to that, so he minds slightly less than he usually would a stranger doing the same thing.

Mantis slaps Eli on his damn ass, but it comes out more fond than exasperated as he had originally intended. That only makes Eli's smirk grow more.

It's a weird feeling, being cared for in this underhanded and intense manner. Mantis doesn't mind; but he chides himself the next second for this thought, he's gone too soft.

  
Despite being at the age when eating sweets at such amounts would be considered childish at best, they both find solace in the temporary rush of endorphins. And Eli's such a curious doofus, he can't pass up a candy bar if he hasn't tried it. Which happens every time they cross they cross borders, without failure. Mantis barely manages to be the voice of reason despite the bright packaging and unfamiliar languages beckoning him, promising heavenly sweetness to grace his palate.

Later, while cuddling under a patchy blanket, Mantis twists the strands of Eli's hair this way and that, on the lookout for the rise of the mental spikes of Eli's mind, like a cat's hackles rising when being pet against the direction of its' fur growth, and he ceases the action as soon as the annoyance reaches a certain point, and just as soon that annoyance subsides, Mantis continues his endeavor. Eli's blonde mane is almost... curly on its' ends, much like Mantis', only less wild.

"Hey."

"M-m?" Eli is almost asleep on Mantis' bony shoulder. It seems that digesting such a nice full meal has taken a lot of energy out of him.

"Your hair's getting kind of long and curly. You should cut it next time we hit up a town."

Eli snorts, "You're one to talk!" and curls a long strand of red hair around his finger to better illustrate his point, not in the mood to further indulge this topic. Then adds, after undoing the curl from his finger and watching it bounce when set free, "I like it that way. Shows that I'm not like them, with their straight russet hair and shit."

Eli is so, so childish. And petty.

Mantis takes off his mask for a second time this day, but now fully, to kiss Eli, not caring for the coals of pain from the scar tissue on his lips coming back to life.

Eli wants to mumble "What's gotten into you," but it comes out as a muffled protest that quickly dies down into sloppy, wet sounds.  
The kiss is less aggressive than the morning one, with more languid, gentle. Mantis feels his ears set ablaze and an involuntary smile blooming into Eli's lips.

Having had his fill of Mantis for now and unlatching his lips from Mantis', careful not to catch at the scars with teeth, Eli joyfully comments: "Up until this moment, I've never noticed you have crow's feet! And dimples, too. Or maybe they start to show because you're eating better and smile more."

Mantis, embarrassed from such attention to his face, mutters: "Egh, you taste like bacon grease." But the fond glint in Mantis' eyes belies that sentiment entirely. Eli catches on to that but doesn't comment.  
"You kissed me yourself, nobody forced you. S'your own damn fault." And he latches onto Mantis' neck like a damn lamprey.

As Mantis quietly gasps, the seams at his mouth reminding of themselves with pain, at Eli lavishing attention on his neck, he finds himself relaxing into the nips with all the trust in the world. Even when Eli's intense glare is like that of a hawk spotting its' prey from immeasurable heights, a butterfly knife aimed at their victim glinting in hand, Mantis finds their bond growing ever stronger. Mantis isn't afraid to wonder if Eli, perhaps, is the only one that has his trust in the whole world.

Even when Eli curls up at his side on the back seat this night, hogging all the blankets and snoring once again and being as big and loud as possible even in sleep, Mantis can't bring himself to tug out the only blanket they have from the other's grasp and move to the driver's seat farther away from the sound. So he sighs, clenches Eli's blazing-warm hand with his bony fingers, and settles himself as much as he can against Eli's body. If he isn't gonna share the blanket, then Mantis will just have to steal his warmth.

Mantis doesn't really mind that they're practically joined at the hip now. It's of his own volition, it's nice, and that's all that matters.

**Author's Note:**

> liquid: *says some dumb shit and swallows a beaned toast whole*  
mantis, taking off his gas mask: god you're so stupid
> 
> HOLY HELL I wrote a thousand and a half words of this in one sitting!! While having fun! Dude! I didn't even know I could do that (｡•̀ᴗ-)ᕤ✧
> 
> *ahem* Fluff is all I write now, it seems. Ah well, I'm trying to create a cushion of wholesomeness for the... uh. A less pleasant and more heavy-themed fic I have cooking up. It should be ready sometime this month...? idk we'll see
> 
> I imagine that both Liquid and Mantis are in their early twenties here. And, both of them being the bitter people that they are, I think they would bicker and fight and insult each other a lot while still caring for each other.
> 
> I'd originally intended to name this "Gonna Write Down My Law In Blood Upon The Street", a song lyric [ from Alice Cooper's Brutal Planet](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JAKCl_lTkCI), but then I gave Secret Treaties a listen yet again, and had an epiphany.
> 
> So yeah, there you go. I'm [cherishiggy](https://cherishiggy.tumblr.com) on tungle.hell, hmu to chat about whatever if you wanna! Stay hydrated, lads.


End file.
